


A Particular Brand of Enchantment

by annathema



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Cum Inflation, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Fisting, M/M, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Size Kink, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8137648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annathema/pseuds/annathema
Summary: Solas and Dorian have tried many different toys in their relationship, but a trip to Val Royeaux has them discovering a new toy: a special dildo that slowly 'grows' to a preset size the longer it is worn.Fill for the DA kink meme prompt here.





	

Solas had initially entered this relationship with no intentions beyond brief, physical gratification. Just…a meaningless night, once. A quick and dirty tryst to untangle the nerves and never be spoken of again. It was never supposed to be anything more than that. _Dorian_ was not supposed to be more than that.

Solas has since lost count of their encounters.

Today he accompanies Dorian to a specialty shop hidden away in the upper market of Val Royeaux, and watches him hand the merchant payment for a crafted rune-inscribed phallus he fully plans to put inside him. It’s far from the first time they’ve implemented toys in their relationship – experimentation, they found, has _delicious_ rewards – but this particular one is…slightly different.

“Mages,” Dorian marvels. He slides a thumb up the smooth shaft of the dildo, admiring the rounded plug at the base. It’s small, considering the ones they’ve tried in the past, but he’s been assured that won’t last. “What will they think of next?”

Solas has heard a handful of secondhand tales about this particular brand of enchantment, but has yet to test it himself.

He rather looks forward to finding out if it lives up to the rumors.

They wait until their return to Skyhold to put it to use, and Dorian looks positively gleeful when he presents it. “Do you want to put it in, or would you rather I did?”

“You can,” Solas decides. “But I would enjoy a more… _collaborative_ effort, if possible.”

In the end Dorian fucks him against a corridor wall, lips pressed hot to Solas’ throat, and after filling his ass with cum kneels between his legs to finish him off with his mouth. Solas is left breathless, face hopelessly flushed, and Dorian takes this as the perfect opportunity to introduce their newest purchase.

He works the toy inside him with relative ease, the way already slicked with seed, and Dorian delights in the way his hole stretches around the flared base and tightens as it’s pushed fully in.

Solas hisses a sharp breath through his teeth as the toy settles into place inside him. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” he struggles to murmur.

“Very much so. Thank you for asking.” Dorian presses a lazy kiss to the back of his neck, smiling against his skin. “But we’re not done quite yet.” With a creeping grin, he presses firmly against the toy’s base and is all too satisfied at the soft _“ah!”_ that escapes Solas’ throat as it begins to slowly expand.

Oh, this would be too fun.

Solas tries to compose himself with a breathless huff. The effect is not as successful as he hoped. “And how big will this get, exactly?”

“I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” He gives it another nudge for good measure, and feels his cock twitch at the obscene sound it elicits.  “Now,” he commands, “keep it there.”

Solas nods, but the hard swallow that follows leaves his eyes looking glazed. “How long?”

“Until I decide to take it out. Ah, and before I forget.” He snaps his fingers, and the rune carved into the toy’s base activates.

The strangled noise Solas makes is as involuntary as it is arousing. He grits his teeth and takes a steady, drawn-out breath. Buried inside him, the toy begins to faintly squirm. “How very novel.”

“I assure you,” Dorian warns, “you have not begun to see novel yet.”

 

* * *

 

Solas is disappointed to say his iron will does not last nearly as long as he anticipated. Holding the toy inside him is difficult enough by itself – trying to carry on his daily routine with his ass stuffed full is far, far harder. He can feel it expand inside him every so often, growing heavy while he shifts and tries not to squirm. His insides are too sensitive, reacting to every expanding inch, every minute stretch, and when it swells again he swears his legs nearly give out.

He thinks sitting down will alleviate the sensation. He is wrong. Solas eases himself down into his chair and has to physically cover his mouth when he feels the toy drive just that much deeper into him. He shudders, teeth sunk firmly into his lip, as he comes with a stifled whine.

Cullen passes through the rotunda only moments later on his way to the throne room, and Solas is suddenly incredibly grateful for his desk. The Commander pauses worriedly at the door, brow raised.

“Are you feeling well, Solas?” The concern in his voice makes it somehow even worse. “You look feverish.”

He means to say “Fine,” but halfway into it the toy starts to pulse. He ends up instead biting out a wavering assurance of “Fi- _ah!_ -i…ne. _Fine_.”

Once Cullen leaves Solas hears the echo of laughter filter down from above, and looks up to glare at Dorian, leaning over the railing with a smug little smirk.

“Sorry,” he calls down, “I didn’t catch that. You’re what, exactly?”

 

* * *

 

He does not even last the hour.

Solas retreats to Dorian’s alcove in the library when he cannot keep hold of his focus any longer. He’s not sure what he means to happen, but it is certainly not this. Hidden off in the corner, he presses flush to Dorian’s chest while the smug bastard slips a hand down the backside of his trousers and _plays_.

Dorian teases him at first – spreads his ass open with two fingers and lets the dildo slide just barely out only to slowly press it back in. He gives it a meaningful twist as he works it in and out of his trembling body in a slow, shallow fuck. He never lets it slip out more than an inch, never offers relief. Only plays, twisting and pressing until Solas’ cock strains against the confines of his ruined trousers, trapped painfully between them. When the elf is finally reduced to a panting mess he shoves the toy as deep as it’ll go, and with a simple press triggers another expansion. Solas’ legs shake.

“Ah, ah,” Dorian warns. He presses a finger to Solas’ parted lips just as the creak of an opening door sounds. The echoing click of Vivienne’s heels draws near just as he shoves Dorian away.

Oh, of all the…

Solas doesn’t realizing he’s leaning slightly forward until the Enchanter stops to flash him a suspicious frown. “Did you injure your back?” she inquires.

“I- yes. I did.”

She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Are you not proficient in healing magic? Truly, my dear, you should be better at this.” She sweeps off to deliver some new findings to the research table, and Solas’ face burns.

“Truly,” Dorian leans in close to whisper in his ear. “Where is your pride?”

Solas means to bite back with something witty, but finds all access to speech cut off when a wet burst of warmth paints his insides.

 _Ohh._ That was… _new._

“Novel,” Dorian gloats. “Isn’t it?”

The toy pumps another spurt of sticky warmth into his ass, and Solas grips Dorian’s sleeve with a plaintive whimper. “You- _mm_. Ah…h…” Intelligent words, he finds, are not his strong suit at the moment.

Dorian’s triumphant snicker drives him mad. “Yes,” he agrees. “That’s what I thought.”

 

* * *

 

At noon Trevelyan calls Solas to the war room, apparently in need of a text translation, and Solas cannot think of a worse person to speak to. The Inquisitor is insufferable enough on an average day. Today, with Solas’ focus too scattered to concentrate on maintaining patience, the man is nothing short of unbearable.  Solas dons a practiced mask of calm, wills his voice to stay steady, and whisks off to the war room with hopes of appearing at least outwardly composed.

It works, he thinks. The Inquisitor drones on about battle preparations, caught up in scanning a new stack of elven translations, and Solas is sure he can endure this. Sure, that is, until the war room door swings open, and to his horror Dorian saunters in with an armful of scrolls he insists he must deliver to Trevelyan in person.

Solas knows he’s doomed as soon as the mage steps up beside him. He attempts desperately to focus on the conversation at hand while Dorian rests his palm flat against his lower back. He nods along to Trevelyan’s words, feigning interest, and Solas inwardly curses as his hand slides from his back to clandestinely grip his ass.

This, Solas thinks, is entirely unfair.

He has to swallow down a groan when Dorian’s fingers wander to the cleft of his ass and press faintly against the toy’s protruding base. It surges warm inside him, and this time Solas can’t catch his whine in time.

The Inquisitor glances up from his scroll with a frown. “Problem?”

“No,” he assures, but his voice comes out too rough. He jabs an elbow directly into Dorian’s ribs as soon as Trevelyan turns around.

 _“That,”_ he accuses in a hushed tone, _“is cheating.”_

“I don’t know, I prefer to think of it as spicing things up a little.” His hand still hasn’t left, still busy prodding through the fabric of his trousers.

“Absolutely n-” Solas cuts off in an anguished gasp as the toy grows larger, pushes deeper into him, and he grabs at Dorian’s arm for support before he can stop himself. The Inquisitor looks back with an irritated scowl.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Solas forces out. “Apologies.”

 _Entirely_ unfair.

 

* * *

 

As much as he loathes to admit it, Solas is no longer sure he can last like this. He’s leaned over his desk, trying to pass the tense set of his jaw off as concentration on the text before him, when the toy flares warm within him. A steady pulse of vibrations sends electric waves shooting through his core, and it becomes a struggle just to stand. If he shifts his weight, rolls his hips just so… The bulbous head of the toy bumps against his prostate, and he cannot hold out. He comes again, voice reined back to a raw ghost of a shout, but the release isn’t as satisfying as he hoped.

He long ago abandoned hope of getting any actual work done today. It’s enough of a chore not to touch himself. His hands ball into the hem of his overshirt, desperately fighting the urge to reach between his spread legs and fuck himself raw. The toy weighs heavy inside him. A firm, teasing pressure.

Solas slips off alone to an empty room, and cannot stop himself from sliding a hand below his waistband. He means only to…adjust, or reposition, or…well. He supposes this is exactly what he means to do.

He ghosts fingertips over the faintly vibrating base, rubs at the tight ring of muscles holding it in, and is ashamed of the needy mewl it elicits. He has to lean against the wall for support, face buried in the curve of his arm. He has nothing left to spill, but his insides still pulse, satisfaction still just out of reach. With an unsteady hand, he angles his hips back and fucks himself with the toy. It pulls so deliciously when he slides it from his ass, and when he shoves it roughly back in it makes his fingers curl. He picks up his pace, pulls it farther out this time and slams it back in, until he holds the base steady and mindlessly rides.

He's considering finding a bed to better position himself in when Dorian’s voice interrupts from the doorway.

“Speaking of cheating,” he announces. His smirk flashes triumphant. “I believe we had an agreement.”

Yes. They did.

Solas concedes defeat on his knees. They did, after all, agree.

He swallows Dorian’s cock down to the base and laves his tongue along the sensitive underside as he pulls slowly back. His cheeks hollow, head tilted to allow him farther down his throat, and each eager suck down draws a lewd, wet sound from his swollen lips. The toy only drives deeper the lower he sinks. His head twists, bobs quicker, jaw opening wider to accommodate.

When Dorian drives himself deeper and comes down his throat, Solas swallows as punishment.

 

* * *

 

The toy continues to grow.

Solas thinks he can handle it at first. It is… _longer_ now than he is normally used to, the girth of it swelling thicker with each steady expansion, but he has handled more challenging experiments in the past. He will handle this just as well.

But time wears on, and the growing doesn’t stop. Solas can’t bring himself to sit anymore, can’t bring himself to do _anything,_ because with each passing minute the pressure inside him expands, fills, until no careful positioning can offer relief. It grows, and grows, and finally Solas has to strain to hold back a cry. He presses an unsteady hand low to his stomach and can feel it inside him – a thick, stiff length pressing obscenely against his straining muscles. He feels the toy bulging through his abdomen, and can only pray the bump isn’t visible to oblivious passersby. He may, he considers, need assistance in handling this.

By the time he tracks down Dorian he’s surprised he still maintains the ability to walk. As it is he feels the toy shift with each tortuous step, the fullness inside him cutting cohesive thought into dizzy little flashes. Dorian, of course, is all too pleased. They abscond off to the cellar library under the pretense of retrieving a text, and Solas has to fight a building groan as he descends the stairs.

Dorian pins him against a dusty bookcase as soon as the door shuts behind them. His hand presses firm against his belly, fingers tracing the dildo’s raised outline, and Solas feels his knees waver.

“I need… _please,_ I can’t-”

Dorian’s fingers knead against the aching bulge. “What’s the magic word?”

“ _Idiot_.”

“I was looking for ‘please,’ actually, but I suppose that will do.” He presses against it again, and this time it responds with another slow expansion.

“Enjoy it while you can,” Solas grits through clenched teeth. “It’s going in you next.”

Dorian presses on the swell in his belly hard enough to make him gasp. “I look forward to it.”

It takes a long, agonizing minute to pull the monstrous thing all the way out, and when it finally tugs free the loss draws a low, reedy noise from Solas’ throat. His insides feel bruised, his ass still throbbing. He holds onto Dorian’s shoulder, and tries to remember the last time he ever felt so full.

“Feeling well?”

“Sore,” he chokes. “…but well, yes.”

“Ah, good.” He lays a hand over the tender plane of Solas’ abdomen, touch light, and the flow of magic soothes like water over a burn.

Solas breathes out a wisp of a laugh. “You’ve gotten better.”

“I’ve gotten _exceptionally_ better,” Dorian corrects, “and I was already fantastic at it to start with.”

“You were a terrible healer. You are marginally decent now.”

“‘Marginally,’ he says! Maker help me. I healed an entire broken arm, I’ll have you know.”

“It was a wrist,” Solas argues, “and I healed it. Your assistance was _marginal._ ” His breath hitches as a fresh wave of magic seeps into his body and pools deep in his muscles. “Marginal,” he maintains.

Dorian would gladly argue, but chooses instead to slide two slick fingers inside him and cast a healing spell that punches any remaining air from his lungs. The way Solas squirms is nothing short of exquisite.

“Marginal, was it?” A firm stroke against his prostate earns a lovely moan.

“Perhaps moderately decent,” he huffs out. Dorian peppers cool kisses along the feverish expanse of his throat, magic faintly pulsing, and Solas admits he rather enjoys that. “Idiot,” he repeats, but the choked rawness of his voice lessens the effectiveness of it. “You- _hah_ -you… _ass_.”

“Flattery,” Dorian glibly informs, “will get you nowhere.”

He kisses him, which doesn’t make anything better at all. Especially when Solas digs his fingers into the collar of Dorian’s robe and pulls him back into a hungry kiss that lingers too long.

“Unfair,” he growls.

“No, unfair is what I’m about to do.” Dorian’s eyes glitter with a wicked sheen. “Now turn.”

 

* * *

 

An hour later, and Solas’ confidence has all but disappeared.

The toy inflates slower now, far more gradual, but the occasional bursts of cum have become near constant. Solas shudders at the latest spill of warmth within him, and has to bite back a whimper as excess seed begins to leak from the stretched-tight rim of his ass to soak into his trousers. He has never been more grateful for the length of fabric covering his front. The toy keeps pulsing, keeps _filling._ Solas resolves to stay diligent, but each thick wave of fluid pumped into him draws him to the brink of a moan.

Eventually his belly begins to swell, his insides full with a building pressure. His unshakable composure, to his disappointment, disappears entirely.

He stalks off to retrieve his insufferable mage, and retreats to the safety of his bedroom on legs that won’t stop quaking. When Dorian finally bends him over the bed and pulls the toy free with a wet, salacious _pop_ Solas feels a belly full of cum pour thick and warm from his hole. He lets slip a high-pitched whine when Dorian shoves his waiting cock inside him. Cum leaks out with each thrust into him, dribbling down his thighs, soaking into the bunched fabric shoved down around his knees. Solas tries to bite his lip and keep silent but cannot quell a needful groan.

Dorian finishes with a pleased gasp, but keeps him pinned with a hand laid firm on his shoulder.

“Spread,” he commands.

Solas does, thighs forced wide, and with obscene ease Dorian begins to push his hand inside him.

Normally it takes ages of preparation for Solas to take his fist, but the toy leaves his hole slick and loose. Dorian has no trouble fitting the pointed tip of his hand snugly into his ass. He watches in rapt delight as he sinks in past the wrist before stalling midway down his forearm. Solas writhes beneath him, lips parted in a choked gasp, and slowly, carefully, Dorian squeezes his hand into a fist.

He fucks him at a steady pace until he’s sure he’s buried as deep as he can go. By the time he’s finished Solas can no longer string together coherent words. The thick oak of his bedroom door has never been more of a blessing – when Solas finally comes, he screams.

When he’s finished, Dorian graciously shrinks the toy down a size and works it back into his abused hole. A warm spread of healing magic only tightens his ass around it. “Keep it there,” Dorian reminds. “And I’ll see you later.”

Solas can’t seem to formulate the words to reply.

 

* * *

 

He does not make it to the end of the day. Although he would argue he came remarkably close, despite whatever Dorian insists. He officially admits defeat when he snags Dorian by the arm and drags him off to the nearest room with a locking door. Chest heaving, he draws forth enough energy for only one word: “Please.”

“Happily,” Dorian obliges.

He works the toy out of his ass with agonizing slowness, lips sucking heated kisses to Solas’ collarbone, his neck, up the hard line of his jaw, while his other hand wraps purposefully around his weeping cock and strokes. The dildo tugs out inch by inch, keeping time with each measured pump of Dorian’s fist. His thumb deftly strokes beneath the flared head of his cock, flushed red and aching, and Solas cannot keep from reflexively curling into the curve of Dorian’s neck.

“I need to…I can’t…” His teeth clench so hard his jaw aches. “Dorian,” he begs, “ _please._ ”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” He gives his cock a flourished tug, and Solas fights a scream.

“I will _incinerate_ you while you _sleep._ ”

“So testy,” Dorian chastises. “What happened to asking nicely?”

 _“Dorian.”_ The name comes out as a desperate plea. _“Please.”_

He kisses him, slow and deep, and with a deft twist of his wrist pulls the rest of the toy free. Solas comes, and this time calls Dorian’s name.

Solas leans limp against him, breath coming too hard, too fast. It takes a solid stretch of minutes before he comes back to his senses enough to release a shaky exhale. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a monstrous human being?”

“I believe you did, last week.” Dorian catches his mouth in a kiss that splits into a smile. Solas rather enjoys that.

“Are you quite pleased with yourself?”

“I am incredibly pleased with myself. Kind of you to ask.”

“Good,” he says. “Enjoy it now. I believe the next one is my choice.”

“Again,” Dorian assures. “Looking forward to it.”


End file.
